


Cold Comfort

by StellarLibraryLady



Series: Star Trek Incandescent Hearts [8]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: AU, Anal Sex Implied, Comfort/Angst, Comfort/Sick, Cuddling, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Illness and Comfort, Incandescent Hearts (Star Trek Series), Loyalty, M/M, Old Married Couple, One Shot, Patient Spock, Revenge, Sick McCoy, Sick Spock, Sickness and Romance, Snarky McCoy, Spooning, Star Trek Humor, True Love, Whiny McCoy, caring mccoy, caring spock, spones - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 04:11:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10070879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellarLibraryLady/pseuds/StellarLibraryLady
Summary: McCoy has a cold and he wants Spock to make him feel better.  McCoy is pretty whiny about it.





	

“I’m bored, Spock,” McCoy whined.

“I am sorry, Leonard.”

“I’m bored and I'm sick and I don’t give a damn about anything,” he complained listlessly.

Spock placed a finger in the exciting book he had been reading and looked toward a disgruntled looking McCoy who slumped in a nearby chair in their quarters on the Enterprise. Leonard needed a distraction.

“Would you like to listen to some music, Leonard?” Spock asked patiently. 

“Oh, I can‘t seem to concentrate on music right now. I can‘t see the attraction or the interest in a bunch of clanging noises. It all starts to sound alike after awhile.”

Spock frowned. Beethoven? And Johann Strauss? Sounded alike?! What next?! Johnny Cash and Luciano Pavarotti were soul brothers with similar singing styles as their kid brother Prince?! Leonard must indeed be ill if he had no appreciation for the language of the gods, for that surely was what music was for Spock. 

“Why not take a nap then?” Spock inquired soothingly. “That is always good for a cold. It is wise to get plenty of rest and also to drink plenty of fluids.”

“I’ve got calluses on my butt from lying down or sitting in this chair so much. And I’ve drunk so much water and had to go to the bathroom so much that the stool is starting to protest.”

“Leonard,” the literal Spock objected. “The stool is an inanimate object. It has no voice of its own. How then does a bathroom stool protest?”

“You don’t wanna know,” McCoy slurred. “Believe me, you don’t wanna know. But, trust me, it can get ugly.” He coughed and followed it with a moan. “I don’t feel well, Spock.”

“I know, Leonard. You have a cold. I am sorry that you are not feeling well.”

“I know. It’s no fun for you to have to listen to me complain.“

“It is what it is, Leonard. I know that you like to have me here with you when you are not feeling well. My presence comforts you. You would do the same for me.“

“Misery loves company, right?“ His brilliant smile had nothing to do with humor. Then his smile collapsed “This cold is awful, Spock. I hope you don’t take it from me.“ 

“Me, neither,“ Spock agreed. To be so ill that a person was rendered unable to discern between musical styles was almost beyond Spock‘s imagination. For someone with Spock’s vast background, knowledge, ability, and appreciation of music, such an illness would be catastrophic and somewhere right up there with the plague and dysentery. Spock unconsciously wrinkled his nose. The thought of dysentery had always had a particularly horrifying connotation to him. It had always sounded so messy. 

McCoy sniffled in his misery. “The common cold. Man has been suffering from these rascals ever since his ancestor pulled himself up out of the primal ooze, stood upright, and decided to breath oxygen into his lungs instead of water. He pulled in his first lungful of fresh air, thought it smelled good, and coughed. From then on, our fate was sealed.“ He groaned. “You would’ve thought that by the Twenty-Third Century we would have found a cure for the common cold, wouldn‘t you?”

“I know, Leonard. It is a glaring oversight of advanced scientific studies, surely,” Leonard answered in the same soothing voice. He peeked a longing look at his book. So near, and yet so far.

McCoy frowned in thought. “Hey, do you think that could be the answer?”

“What is that, Leonard?” Spock asked as his eyes absently ran down the page he had been reading and caught sight of intriguing words that would be lurking just ahead to catch his interest and pique his intellect. 

But it was not to be now, so he swung his eyes back to McCoy.

“Maybe there’s something in sea water to ward off the common cold. Could it be the concentration of salts, do you think? Could that be the answer? Tell me, have you ever seen a catfish with a cold? Or a barracuda with the flu? We must study fish to find a cure! It‘s so obvious!”

Spock frowned. What drivel was McCoy spouting? Was he proposing that they sack their Star Trek careers to study the connection between fish and human illnesses? How ill was his life partner, anyway? “That is not a very viable supposition, Doctor. We do not know if primitive life forms suffered from the equivalent of our colds. They may have had ailments that we have left behind in our mutations and advancements up the evolutionary ladder.”

“No. Think of it! You aren’t using your imagination! Mankind didn’t start having colds until he became an air breathing mammal.”

“You are correct. Up until that time, he had been a fish,” muttered Spock, sounding very much like the generally cynical McCoy. “Your hypothesis cannot be tested. Place a man, or any of the higher animals like mammals such as we are, in water. Expect him to breath sea water for the advancement of science and the cure of the common cold, and that creature will surely drown. One hundred percent of the time. There is no margin for error. It has been proven thousands of time, perhaps even millions of time. And not just through experimentation. Higher animals will drown in sea water, or even fresh water, for that matter. Their gills have been replaced by lungs.” He looked aside as he thought about the concept. “It might have been a poor exchange.”

“You’re starting to sound a little pissy, Vulcan.”

“I am sorry, Leonard,” Spock said with a sigh and slipped a book marker into his book where his finger had been. He set the book aside and looked at McCoy with his full attention. “What can I do to help you feel better?”

“Make this cold go away.”

“Leonard, you know I cannot do that. I would if I could, but, alas, I cannot.”

“You would, if you loved me,” McCoy whined.

And if you loved me, you would stop pestering me, Spock thought, but knew he could never voice that opinion. He knew it would crush something in McCoy that could never heal. And Spock would never, ever do that to McCoy. Or to himself. For it would be like doing it to himself. It would crush something in both of them that Spock did not want to crush. McCoy was that precious to him. Their relationship was that important.

But, still, he would like just a little peace and quiet now. Was that asking so much? Everyone deserved rest from their labors, but nursing McCoy was more taxing and difficult than a double shift on the bridge of the Enterprise or hard labor under the boiling Georgia sun. Spock did not have personal experience of that last example. He had viewed “Cool Hand Luke” and been very impressed with it.

Spock knew that McCoy did not feel well, but that was not Spock’s fault. It was probably McCoy’s fault, though, for not following simple hygiene and health rules. 

“Now, Leonard, you know that colds have to be waited out and endured. Your illness will pass, in time. But it will take time. For you, you need to rest and take care of yourself, some things that you probably did not do initially which has led you to this illness.”

“I know. I know. I should have slowed up at work, but I kept thinking that I would help stem the cold infection on this ship. It was spreading faster than measles through a day care in Appalachia.”

“And contracted it yourself, in the process.”

“And contracted it myself,” McCoy agreed in misery. “But knowing the probable cause and its predictable effect then doesn’t help any now. Logic doesn’t help. Nothing does. I feel awful.”

“I know you do, Leonard, and I am sorry. But, still, there is nothing I can do but offer sympathy and make suggestions that might help. Or simply leave you alone so you can rest.”

“No, no, I’m tired of resting.”

“Why not watch a John Wayne movie?” Spock asked with sudden inspiration. “You love Westerns. Have you not often said that you would have liked a movie career playing cowboys? Watch a John Wayne Western and relive that dream.“

“Don’t wanna watch one of his Westerns. In my mood, I’d root for the Indians.“

“It is nearly St. Patrick’s Day. Watch ‘The Quiet Man.’ A man with your Irish heritage would appreciate that movie. And the beauty of the Irish countryside would soothe you. It is so nostalgic for that way of simple life that is gone forever.”

“I’ve watched the movie three times already. John Wayne is starting to get on my nerves, coming back to Ireland and stirring everybody up the way he does. Did you ever notice? Everyone was getting along just fine until that Yank hit town. I’m starting to want Victor McLaglen to win his big fistfight with Wayne. Hell, I’m even starting to want Maureen O’Hara to beat the living shit out of him. Heaven knows, he certainly deserves it! Ignoring her traditions the way he does! Now, THAT would be entertaining and certainly innovative. In fact, I‘d pay to watch that as a double feature. I wouldn‘t even need popcorn and a diet soda to gain satisfaction from that movie experience! No, sirree!” He looked satisfied, indeed.

Spock frowned. “Perhaps you are more ill than we thought. Perhaps you should lie down again.”

“Only if you lie down with me,” McCoy whined. “And hold me in your arms. I like that so much. You know I do.”

“Now, Leonard, you know that I should not get in close contact with you, or I will contract the cold virus myself.”

“Yeah, but,” he whined as he worried a spot on the arm of the chair with his thumb. “It’s been days! Since, well, you know.”

“I know, Leonard.” Spock sighed. “I know very well how long it has been.”

"And, I‘m, ah, kinda missing that."

"I have been missing it, too, Leonard."

"Well? Hmm?" McCoy gave Spock his most beckoning look.

Spock looked away. "Stop that, Leonard. You know that you must not allow anything to distract you while you are healing."

"You aren't any fun!" McCoy complained. "Everyone needs a little distraction every now and then."

Spock pursed his lips and sighed deeply.

“You wouldn’t have to do anything else. Just, you know.” He looked up with his big, pleading, puppy dog eyes. “Just HOLD me. Make me feel better. Hmm? Hmm?”

Spock sighed again.

“That’s all, Spock. That’s all you would have to do to help me rest. Just.” Bat those beautiful, long eyelashes at the alien and sound wistful enough to break a heart made out of stone. “Just HOLD me!” He sighed. “Pretty please? With chocolate sauce and a cherry on top? And maybe a little marshmallow creme? Hmm?”

Oh, hell, Spock thought. How could he deny McCoy when McCoy was so obviously needing him? Spock’s heart was not made out of stone, despite what he tried to pretend. It was not made of a material even closely resembling stone, especially when it came to Leonard McCoy. McCoy could manipulate him so easily. Perhaps it was a good thing that McCoy did not fully realize the influence he had over the Vulcan. Otherwise, Spock would have no defenses against this aggravating, perplexing, exasperating, but endearing and utterly fascinating Earthling.

McCoy was right. It had been several days since they had touched each other, either romantically or accidently. Surely McCoy was still not contagious. And even if he was still a little bit, surely just touching McCoy would not infect Spock. Surely, Spock’s system could fight the virus that had been weakened by McCoy‘s system. 

Besides, Spock wanted McCoy back in his arms again. It all came down to that. How could Spock fight against something so adamantly when he wanted it so much himself? If they touched, he would jump for joy as much as McCoy would. It just would not be as apparent with Spock.

Spock pulled himself out of his chair. “Alright, Leonard, come to bed with me.”

McCoy’s eyes lit up. McCoy threw the blanket aside that had been draped over his shoulders and jumped to his feet. “Yes, sir!”

Spock stopped and frowned at the frolicking child that McCoy had suddenly become. That was livelier than even Spock had imagined that McCoy could be. 

It was true that McCoy had more speed and interest than he’d had in days as he charged toward their bed. Hell, he could barely contain himself. He was going to get to cuddle with Spock! He dove under the covers, got on his side, and grinned up at Spock in animated contentment. “Spoon me, Spock!” he yelled and wriggled in anticipation.

Spock sighed and slid in behind him. He fit his body against the doctor’s backside and pulled his arms around McCoy while McCoy continued his contented wiggling. Spock thought of week old puppies rolling over each other. 

When Spock and McCoy got settled, Spock did have to admit that the position was comfortable. He had missed having his arms around McCoy. Perhaps that was why he had slept so fitfully the last few nights. His arms had been empty.

“Isn’t this nice, Spock?” McCoy murmured while a big grin played across his lips. “I’ve missed this so much.”

“It is very nice, Leonard. I have missed it, also.”

“I think this is one time that I’m actually warmer than you are. Or maybe you’re just cold. I hope I don’t have fever anymore. I wouldn‘t want you to get sick, too.”

“It will be alright, Leonard.” He pressed a gentle kiss against McCoy’s temple and heard McCoy hum his thanks. “You feel a little warm, but don’t worry about it.” He squeezed his arms around McCoy. Oh, yes!

McCoy nestled his head into Spock’s neck and smiled. “I just love the way that you take my temperature. Nobody else takes it by kissing my temple.”

“Nobody else better,” he ordered with a pretend deep growl low in his throat.

Spock was jealous! Good! McCoy’s smile deepened and that only made it better because the Vulcan couldn’t see it. He turned so he could press a gentle kiss into the hollow of Spock’s neck. “God, I love the taste of you!” he whispered hotly as his tongue left a wet trail across Spock's flesh and caused Spock to squeeze his eyes shut. “There’s a spice on your skin that I can’t name. Cinnamon? Ginger? Anyway, it’s exotic. Far Eastern. Just like you. Unknown. Mysterious.” He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “And you’re mine. All mine. And I will have you.”

Spock gave McCoy a quick squeeze before he realized that he was going to do it. “Leonard. Do not start anything,” Spoke cautioned. “Remember your illness.”

“Who’s starting anything?” McCoy murmured. “I’m just appreciating you.”

“Thank you for appreciating me.“ He smiled and knew that McCoy could not see the tenderness and warmth on his face. “I appreciate you, too.“

“You know that’s another way of saying that you love me, don’t you?“

“Leonard. Do not put words into my mouth.“

“That’s not what I really want to put into your mouth, you know.“

“Leonard. Watch what you are saying.“

McCoy grinned his secret grin into Spock’s neck again. “You love it when I talk dirty, and you know it!“

The warmth of McCoy's voice had given away his grin, and Spock's lips gently touched McCoy's face again. “You do have an interesting vocabulary.“

“And I know that it gets you worked up.“

“Leonard. We cannot start anything.“

“No, we cannot start anything,” McCoy mocked seriously, all the while grinning. “Because of my illness.“

“Good. I am happy that you can understand reason, even though you might not be practicing it. Now, go to sleep,” he suggested while his hand absently stroked up and down on McCoy’s arm. How he loved the touch of Leonard, even when he was ill! And even through his shirt! The muscles, the skin texture! Spock had it all memorized, and still he marveled at this creature who was known as Leonard McCoy.

“But, if I’m asleep,” McCoy complained. “I won’t know that your arms are around me. I need to stay awake so I know that this is really happening, so I know that you are really with me. I want to really feel you, Spock.” He backed against Spock harder and ground his hips against Spock in an effort to feel closer.

Spock caught his breath. If McCoy kept that up, they would have more to occupy themselves than cuddling and sleeping. And Spock thought that perhaps, under the circumstances, they should not have more to occupy themselves. Even if it had been several days since they had been, ah, so occupied. Prudence advised that Spock should still be careful and avoid as much contact as possible with McCoy.

Spock reluctantly withdrew his hand.

“Spock?! Where did you go?!”

“Hush, Leonard.”

"But your hand went away!"

"It did not go far. It is still firmly attached."

"But I want it firmly attached on me!" McCoy whined.

"Leonard," Spock cautioned.

"Spock!" McCoy whined.

Spock heaved a big sigh and returned his hand to McCoy's arm. McCoy also sighed, closed his eyes, smiled a big, happy smile, and rubbed his face against the pillow. He was contended once more.

Then McCoy wiggled against him again and moaned in pleasure at the contact. That sound sealed their fate. It reminded Spock of other times with McCoy. Spock loved to produce that sound in McCoy. He wanted to hear that sound again from McCoy, but prudence advised going no further.

McCoy sighed in contentment and stroked Spock’s upper thigh.

Had McCoy used a lit match on Spock‘s flesh?!

He might as well have. Spock couldn’t be any more on fire. The flames were making it difficult for him to breathe.

“Spock, I hope you know that you’re all I’ll ever need,” McCoy murmured and started to drift off to sleep. “As long as I have you, I‘m happy.” 

“I know, Leonard. Now go to sleep.”

Spock felt McCoy relax completely. He was asleep. 

The Earthling was vulnerable, so vulnerable. 

And his.

Prudence be damned! Spock was only human. Well, half human. But that’s all it took. The Vulcan side was welcomed to ride along if it wanted, because both sides of Spock were definitely going somewhere. And it was a place he had definitely gone to before and now longed to revisit.

Spock grabbed McCoy’s head, yanked it toward him as a startled McCoy opened his mouth to protest, and rammed his raspy tongue deep inside McCoy’s open mouth. McCoy grunted at Spock’s savagery, then caught on real fast that Spock had leaped several steps beyond the comforting stage. McCoy grabbed onto whatever he could grasp of the Vulcan and held on as much as he was able. He was in for a ride, and he knew it.

Spock must have been doing a lot of the same kind of thinking, because he was way ahead of McCoy.

McCoy didn’t mind. In fact, it went right along with his suddenly changed agenda.

After all, it had been several days.

When they got their 'little distraction' out of the way, then Spock and McCoy slept soundly. They did not move for many restful hours, with McCoy snugly encircled in his Vulcan's arms. And by morning, McCoy was feeling better and Spock was well on his way to coming down with his guaranteed cold.

 

“Good morning, Mr. Spock. And how are you today?”

“Superb, Captain. I slept soundly last night. And you?”

“Never better!” He rubbed his hands together. “And Dr. McCoy? How he is by now? Is his cold any better?”

“I believe that he is improving, Captain.”

“That is good news. Maybe the crew is starting to conquer this strain of cold virus. We just keep passing it around among us. We are worse than a first grade class back in Pittsburgh in February.”

“Yes, Captain. The strain is a particular virulent species. I will be happy when we have all built immunity to it.”

“So will I. But this strain seems hardier than most. It might take several rounds of contagion before we have truly conquered its effects.”

“That might be, Captain. Ah choo! Sorry, Captain. That sneaked up on me, I guess.”

“Spock. Are you coming down with the cold now?”

“I do not know, Captain.”

“Well, if you do, you have your own private doctor to monitor you, don’t you?”

“Yes, Captain, it appears that I would. Ah choo! Ah choo! Excuse me, Captain, I believe I need to report to Sickbay.”

“Yes, Mr. Spock. I believe that you do.”

Kirk frowned as he watched Spock walk away. If Kirk didn’t know any better, he could have sworn that he saw a smile of satisfaction on Spock’s face.

Now, why would the Vulcan be happy about coming down with a cold?!

 

Two days later Kirk stopped a harried looking McCoy in the hallway.

“Dr. McCoy! You’re better!“

“I’m working! I don’t know if that’s any better.“

“Where are you going in such a fast and determined manner? Is the ship in danger? Should I sound the general alarm?”

“You could,” McCoy answered with a disgruntled frown. “But it wouldn’t do any good. We‘re doomed anyway. At least, I am.”

“Why?! What’s the problem?!”

“The damn Vulcan wants his eggs coddled! Plain boiled eggs won’t do! They have to be coddled! I’d like to coddle his eggs!” McCoy muttered. “That would just give him something else to bitch about, though! ‘Those are my man seeds!’” he mocked. “’They are a precious commodity since there are so few Vulcans left!’ Precious commodity, my sweet ass! I‘ll show him who‘s a precious commodity!” McCoy plunged forward.

“Whoa! Whoa!” Kirk said with a half laugh as he caught McCoy’s arm. “What’s going on?!”

“Spock is sick! That’s what’s going on! And he’s worse than trying to take care of ten five-year-olds with crotch rot! All eleven of them are willing to share their misery with whomever happens to be around! And I‘m the designated babysitter for the whole damn outfit!”

“Whoa! Whoa!” Kirk’s laughter was heartier. “What ten five-year-olds?! Are there people on board I didn’t know about?!“

“It might as well be ten other sick kids plaguing me, the way he’s been acting!“

“Let me guess. Spock came down with your cold?!”

“Or Drama Queen Sickness, I don’t know which! I don’t know which one would be worse! I just know that I sure as hell wasn’t this much trouble when I was sick.”

“Ah--” Kirk remembered McCoy’s erratic behavior and Spock‘s patient nursing against overwhelming odds.

“I was a model patient, Jim. Everybody knows that.”

Kirk nearly choked trying not to laugh.

McCoy frowned. “Are you coming down with something yourself? I don’t want two of you on my hands. Nobody should be allotted that much hardship. Surely there‘s some justice in the universe. One of you needs to die on me, at least, to relieve the pressure.”

“No, no, I’m okay,” Kirk pleaded with his hand held up. “I’m fine. Just let me catch my breath.” His sides were hurting from trying not to laugh, but he couldn’t stop his crying for joy.

“While you’re at it, wipe those tears off your face before I think that your sinuses are acting up. You look like a snot nosed kid.”

“It’s not my sinuses,” Kirk explained as he mopped his face with his hankie.

“That’s what I thought. Keep on enjoying my misery, Captain, and you’ll get to find out how much fun it is to take care of the whiny Vulcan. I‘ll turn him over to you.”

“I’m not a doctor.”

“You can learn!”

Kirk tried to sober up.

“And damn fast, too.”

It was a moment before Kirk got complete control of himself after what McCoy had just said. “Sorry, Bones, I know that nursing can be difficult. Especially when you’re dealing with a grown man. At least, that‘s what their wives always say.”

“Damn straight! And those wives might have a point! Last night the damn Vulcan wanted his feet rubbed! Can you imagine that?! Feet rubbed! I ask you now, what do feet have to do with a head cold?!”

Kirk had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing right in McCoy’s face. “Perhaps it simply made him feel better.”

“It must have,” McCoy grumbled. “I had to rub and rub lotion on them until it put him to sleep, otherwise he started grumbling and rolling around again. Do you know how long that took?!”

Kirk could do nothing about the twinkling in his eyes. “No, I, ah, (cough), don’t, but I suppose his feet are (cough) soft and callus free today.”

McCoy frowned. “Are you sure you’re not coming down with a cold?”

“I might be. Look, you go take care of Spock. The staff can run Sickbay.”

“I don’t know. I’m getting tired of all of his whining. It might be best just to dim the lights, shut the door, and let him sleep it out. That‘s all he really needs anyway, outside of some nourishment now and then. And fluids. But he could swab out his own damn kidneys! He doesn‘t need me around to monitor his bathroom usage.”

“Now, Bones, did he do that to you? Didn’t he stay right by your side? Monitoring everything? No matter how repugnant?”

“Yes, you‘re right. He did,” McCoy admitted with guilt in his voice. “He was a comfort to me. I guess I can’t do any less for him. And I suppose I‘d be wondering about how he was getting along if I wasn‘t with him.”

“That’s right. You’d feel bad about it if you didn‘t.”

“Well, yeah, I guess I would.”

“So, go on. Be with Spock. You’ll both feel better.”

McCoy breathed deeply and squared his shoulders, like any good martyr should. Then he nodded his head to Kirk who nodded back.

Kirk watched McCoy shuffle slowly toward the room where the ill Spock was waiting for him. McCoy would do whatever he had to do for Spock.

Then Kirk thought, You owe me, Spock. Big time.

 

A couple of days later, Kirk went to visit the sickroom.

“You are looking healthier, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said as he sat across the room from his Vulcan friend.

“Why, thank you, Captain. I am feeling much better, thanks to Leonard here.” He glanced at McCoy who sat in the chair next to Spock and smiled. “He has nursed me day and night. I could not have obtained better care anywhere.”

“That’s good to know,” Kirk said. He also thought that McCoy looked tired and peaked, as if he hadn’t been getting enough rest or eating correctly. Might it be that McCoy was getting sick?

And then to prove Kirk‘s theory, Leonard McCoy sneezed.

Kirk recoiled. “Are you coming down with a cold again, Bones?”

“I don’t know,” McCoy answered and sniffed. “I may be.” Indeed, his eyes looked rheumy and his breath was labored.

“So, you’re taking the cold back from Spock.”

“It appears that way, Jim.” McCoy coughed weakly. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat. "I don't feel well, Spock," he whined.

“Poor Leonard,” Spock sympathized.

Poor Spock, Kirk thought.

“You know,” Kirk began. “It appears to me that you guys just keep trading that same cold back and forth between you. Maybe you should really keep your distance away from each other for awhile.”

“Yeah, but what can I do?” McCoy muttered. “He’s an animal. He can’t keep his hands off me.”

Spock looked startled at McCoy, and Kirk agreed with Spock‘s puzzlement. Who again was the animal in that twosome?

“Gentlemen, I have a suggestion,“ Kirk ventured. “Don’t you think it would be better if you each took separate quarters for awhile? Just until this virus goes away, or your immunity is built up sufficiently to fight it? Otherwise, you‘ll just keep getting sick and worn out by caring for each other.” He thought he was giving either or both beleaguered men a graceful and face-saving way of getting out of an exhausting and demeaning situation without jeopardizing their romantic relationship. Neither of them was jumping on his suggestion, however. “Just for awhile, that’s all I’m saying. It might be the most prudent course of action for you. And it might help you heal. How about it?”

Two sets of eyes glared at Kirk. Neither man spoke.

Kirk shrugged. “Or, perhaps not.”

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own anything of the movies 'The Quiet Man' and 'Cool Hand Luke," their casts, and/or production crews.  
> I own nothing dealing with Star Trek, including story lines and/or characters.


End file.
